Chapter 28
Kaylee
"What happened?" I ask the second he walks into the room and I see the look on his face. "Did someone get hurt?"
I rush off the bed and across the room until I'm standing right in front of him.
I'd never forgive myself if the job they did today got someone on his team hurt or killed. It would be my fault. I know he'd have no other recourse than to blame me because I'm the reason they went there in the first place.
In the silence, I question every decision I've made since leaving my hometown, regret swimming inside of me for it leading me here, putting me in a position in his life that would bring tragedy to someone else.
"It's fine," he mutters, his eyes darting away from mine, as if he can't stand the sight of me.
I wrap my arms around myself, needing to find some sort of shield from the cold that's rolling off his shoulders.
"DimaTkachenko and Edmon Vasilev are both in jail."
"Oh good," I say, but his head shakes, as if trying to tell me that it's not okay.
I watch as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, his eyes searching mine.
"Did you find Alena?" I ask, a tremble in my voice as I lift my hand to cover my mouth, thoughts of her coming to a violent end making me shake.
"We found nothing," he answers. "No paperwork of any kind. No proof of other women. We didn't even find your name at the warehouse. He's smart enough to keep it somewhere else. He claimed a fire destroyed it all, but he wouldn't be so lucky."
"What does this mean for me?" I ask, because half of me wants to be free from the threat of danger, but the other half is already scared that there will be retribution from Dima and Edmon when they get a chance to retaliate.
"They're out of commission for a while. We believe Dima is the head of this organization, but it's possible he isn't. It's possible that someone else can step right back into his place and they'll be back up and running by morning."
"So the women were free to go?"
"Kaylee," he whispers, and it makes another wave of unease run up my spine. "They have no documentation. There's a very real chance they'll eventually be deported."
"What?" I ask with a shake of my head. "That's not right. What if they don't want to go back to their home country?"
"If they aren't here legally, they can't stay. That's just how these things work."
I feel sick to my stomach. I don't know what's worse—them staying here and getting married off to men they don't love, or going back to a country they fled from for a reason to begin with.
"Dima claims a fire destroyed his 'employees' paperwork.” He lifts his hands to make quotation marks with his fingers as he says employees. “Although there was a fire at the storage facility that he rents, we can't prove it was actually there."
"When was the fire?"
"Yesterday," he answers.
"Seems convenient," I mutter.
"Exactly, but the fact that there might be a mole in one of the departments who knew we were looking into that crew is a different ball of wax."
"How can Cerberus do any good when there are bad guys disguised as good guys?"
"It's definitely a hindrance," he says, running both hands over the top of his head in frustration. "I can't guarantee that things are safe for you now, but Dima is going to be quite busy trying to get himself out of trouble with the EPA. I doubt he'll have time to worry about an American citizen who he already made his money off of."
"What are you saying?"
His eyes look sad when they reach mine, but it's also very possible that I'm trying to read much more into his mood than is actually there. I don't exactly have the best track record for reading men's true emotions. Had I been capable of that, I might've never had to leave Texas in the first place.
"It's your choice whether you want to stay or go."
My choice.
Seems easy enough. I should be jumping for joy.
If he thinks it's safe enough to go back to my regular life, then I should take that at face value and rush out of the door, right?
"How safe is it?" I ask, a larger part of me wishing he'd just ask me to stay. But I know this departure from my regular life won't last forever, and the longer I stay in this world, the harder it's going to be to return to my own.
"Safer than it was yesterday," he says as he stands. "I'll give you time to think about it. I have to debrief with my team."
"How long do I have to decide?"
"Take as long as you need," he says, before stepping in close and pressing his lips to my forehead.
He's out the door in the next breath, and I fight the urge to chase him down the stairs and beg him to keep me.
Pride and my heartbreaking history keep me rooted in place, wondering exactly what the right choice is and knowing when I finally make that decision, I have to do the complete opposite, because I always make the wrong choice.
Instead of sitting and stewing in my choices, I grab my phone and call Morgan. She doesn't answer, but no sooner do I put my phone back down does it start ringing, her smiling face looking up at me from the bedside table.
The bravery I felt when I called her a second ago has already faded, but I know it would be weird to call her and then not answer when she calls right back, so I connect the call and place the phone to my ear.
"If you're calling to cancel your attendance at my party, you better think again," she says before I can even say hello.
I want to argue that there are many more important things going on in people's lives than a Halloween party, but I know it would only be a waste of breath. She has a one-track mind, and this party has been at the forefront of hers for the last several months.
"I'm not canceling," I assure her because, honestly, if I wasn't planning on attending, I'd just not go and then lie about something coming up.
Not that I'd hurt her feelings like that.
The difference between Morgan and me is that she has a ton of friends whereas she's my only one.
"Good," she says. "How's married life treating you?"
"Ugh," I groan, pressing my fingertips into the space between my eyebrows.
"Honeymoon over already?"
"What honeymoon?" I mutter.
"That's not a good sign," she says. "What's going on?"
"I'd rather not talk about it," I say rather than explaining the entire situation and asking for help.
I know what my friend would say. She'd urge me to see where it goes, to be open and honest, and tell Ellis exactly how I feel.
The difference is that Morgan is the heartbreaker rather than the one getting her heart broken. When I told her about Troy and what he did, she couldn't fathom not being able to see through his bullshit. It's one of the things that makes me mad at her sometimes. She doesn't really form connections with the men in her life. It's as if they're all playthings and she can discard them without repercussion extremely easily.
"Tell me your plans for the party," I say, hoping it's enough to distract her from what's going on in my life.
"As you know, Hensley, Inc. backed out last week."
"You did not tell me that," I mutter.
Hensley, Inc. was the party-planning company she hired last year after things went a little sideways when she planned this same party herself. She put on too many hats and had too many balls in the air. The party got very close to not happening at all because she struggled to handle it all herself.
"I was able to get their notes and plans," she says, relief in her tone. "So I can easily do all the things that need to be done."
"Morgan," I say, hearing the whine in my voice.
"With your help, of course."
"Of course," I mutter.
"If you could be here for setup that morning, it would be great."
"Why would Hensley, Inc. back out?"
Silence fills the line and I already know the answer.
Morgan is very set in her ways, and I can see her going all Bridezilla on the party planners. Despite it not being a wedding, I can see her treating it as something just as important as those onetime memories would be. Not everyone knows how to take her gruff nature, and I've found people much less forgiving of it than I seem to be.
"It's not that big of a deal," she says. "With your help, we can get it done."
"Was it the choice of balloons or the table linens?"
Silence fills the line, but I wait her out.
"They had no idea the difference between teal and turquoise," she says eventually. "How can you possibly run a respectable party-planning business when you don't know the difference?"
I pull in a deep breath, smiling at her annoyance. I think the woman would be happier creating her own party-planning business, but somehow, she still gets dressed each weekday and heads to an office where she works as a financial adviser.
"Okay," I say. "Tell me what they had planned and then how you've changed it."
"You know that little nook off to the left of my foyer?" she begins. I let myself get distracted by her voice, because it's always easier to ignore your own situation and focus on someone else's.